“Hey, mamzelle,” cried the top sergeant. “Voulay vous couchay aveck moy? We We, champagne.” Everybody laughed, uproariously. The girl slapped his head good-naturedly. At that moment a man stamped noisily into the cafe, a tall broad-shouldered man in a loose English tunic, who had a swinging swagger that made the glasses ring on all the tables. He was humming under his breath and there was a grin on his broad red face. He went up to the girl and pretended to kiss her, and she laughed and talked familiarly with him in French. “There's wild Dan Cohan,” said the dark-haired sergeant. “Say, Dan, Dan.” “Here, yer honor.” “Come over and have a drink. We're going to have some fizzy.” “Never known to refuse.” They made room for him on the bench. “Well, I'm confined to barracks,” said Dan Cohan. “Look at me!” He laughed and gave his head a curious swift jerk to one side. “Compree?” “Ain't ye scared they'll nab you?” said Fuselli. “Nab me, hell, they can't do nothin' to me. I've had three court-martials already and they're gettin' a fourth up on me.” Dan Cohan pushed his head to one side and laughed. “I got a friend. My old boss is captain, and he's goin' to fix it up. I used to alley around politics chez moy. Compree?” The champagne came and Dan Cohan popped the cork up to the ceiling with dexterous red fingers. “I was just wondering who was going to give me a drink,” he said. “Ain't had any pay since Christ was a corporal. I've forgotten what it looks like.” The champagne fizzed into the beer-glasses. “This is the life,” said Fuselli. “Ye're damn right, buddy, if yer don't let them ride yer,” said Dan. “What they got yer up for now, Dan?” “Murder.” “Murder, hell! How's that?” “That is, if that bloke dies.” “The hell you say!” “It all started by that goddam convoy down from Nantes...Bill Rees an' me.... They called us the shock troops.--Hy! Marie! Ancore champagne, beaucoup.--I was in the Ambulance service then. God knows what rotten service I'm in now.... Our section was on repo and they sent some of us fellers down to Nantes to fetch a convoy of cars back to Sandrecourt. We started out like regular racers, just the chassis, savey? Bill Rees an' me was the goddam tail of the peerade. An' the loot was a hell of a blockhead that didn't know if he was coming or going.” “Where the hell's Nantes?” asked the top sergeant, as if it had just slipped his mind. “On the coast,” answered Fuselli. “I seen it on the map.” “Nantes's way off to hell and gone anyway,” said wild Dan Cohan, taking a gulp of champagne that he held in his mouth a moment, making his mouth move like a cow ruminating.